Tbh if a "Jason Kills The Joker" fic ends with him regretting it I immediately don't gaf. What if he got his revenge and killed his murderer and he was happy and he danced in the streets and he went home and ate a nice dinner and lived the rest of his life at peace. What then. "Oh, the hollowness of revenge-" has been done to DEATH already I'm boreddddd.
an extremely funny side effect of putting vader in very single sw media post clone wars is that his track record for hunting down and killing force users gets progressively worse. correct me if i’m wrong but i’m pretty sure maul: shadow lord takes place only a few years after the empire takes power and anakin can’t even take down maul, the dude he literally replaced. absolutely hilarious. palpatine you fucked up big time. can you imagine the zoom call afterwards
actually can we have Tim not being adopted into the batfamily and instead after his parents go broke and then die leaving him with nothing he just decides ‘well i know where the batcave is’ and starts living in the tunnels underneath Wayne manor because of the logic that he can’t get kicked out bcs 1. squatters rights and 2. whats Bruce gonna do? call the police and say ‘this guy won’t leave my secret lair. no im not Batman wdym’? and he manages to go unnoticed for like. a good fucking while. not even Alfred realises bcs wtf would he be snooping around down there for?
even better is this happens after Jason dies so Tim still becomes Robin and Bruce is so overwhelmed with grief that he literally never realises that Tim has never once used the front door to come over. he just kinda sneaks up from somewhere in the cave. he assumes that Alfred’s letting the kid in without telling him. Alfred assumes Bruce is doing the same.
Damian finds out first because that’s so much funnier. he gets to Gotham to 1. gain his birthright and meet his father and 2. do some reconnaissance/avenging of this replacement Robin that’s been the centre of Jason’s angry rants at the league for the past 6 months. he follows Tim ‘home’ and finds him fucking. golluming it up a 15 minute hike through the cave system and he’s like. wait what.
Damian, reporting back to Jason: Drake is a mole.
Jason, vindicated: like he’s working for the enemy?!
Damian, standing in front of an indignant Tim in the middle of his ‘camp’, phone pressed to his ear: no like he lives in a fucking tunnel.
Jason:
Tim, mumbling: slightly harsh,
Damian, angling his face away from the phone momentarily: i watched you dig a hole to unearth the protein bars you’d buried there.
Tim:
Jason, rapidly changing his opinion on this kid: ok actually lets not kill him because thats fucking hysterical and i want to know more-
Tim really likes living alone in the tunnels because he’s a weird little guy and he’s gotten used to the independence and lack of sun, and Damian grew up in the league where ‘wilderness training’ was monthly, mandatory, and from the age of three. so he really doesn’t see the issue in it. he just kinda shrugs and accepts his brother lives in the cave system. Jason is so delighted and amused by the vibes these two kids have going on over in Gotham (he gets video calls from Damian just. in Tim’s camp while they hang out together sometimes. Damian brings him water bottles and various sustenance offerings like he’s appealing so some ancient deity living under their house. Jason thinks it’s incredible) that he decides fuck the league, he needs to see this in person. killing the Joker is a side quest he did on the way; he really only came to see what his idiot little brothers had going on under Bruce, Dick and Alfreds nose. he visits Tim’s little cave home while waiting for his new Crime Alley apartment to be ready.
eventually Bruce and Dick are working on a case and they’re following a lead to do with a criminal escaping via cave systems that they theorise may connect to the batcave, so after Damian’s gone to bed they suit up and start searching around. they come across Damian, Tim, and the fucking Red Hood chilling around a small fire just casually eating leftovers Damian snuck down from the kitchen, just quietly enjoying each others presence in this clearly years old campsite, quietly discussing whether or not the weather will be clear enough next week to go to the new art museum together. Dick shines a flashlight at them and they all snap to attention like that scene in ratatouille where the human comes in the kitchen and the rats all freeze and look up. nobody says anything for a solid three minutes.
eventually Tim is just like “I have squatters rights. you can’t evict me.” and Red Hood nods and points at him.
Bruce, desperate to gain some kind of thread of understanding here: “Damian, you’re supposed to be in bed. …Tim, I’m actually not sure where you’re supposed to be, come to think of it, but I don’t think it’s here.”
“He just said he has squatters rights, father.” Damian responds instantly. “Keep up.”
Dick: “And does the Red Hood have squatters rights?”
“I have a gun,” Jason points out cheerfully. “Same thing, ain’t it?”
Dick and Bruce are so confused they become convinced that they’ve been dosed with something and only figure out whats going on after putting on gas masks and testing everybody’s blood.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 2
*Damian and Jason, four hours into a stakeout*
Damian: Jay, hand me the mango pieces.
Jason: *plastic crinkling* ayyy, I’m Jason again!
Damian: *snorts*
Jason: what was with that, by the way? I just showed up in Gotham and found you referring to everyone like they’re your professor. Like, that’s not a ‘you’ thing, I don’t know why you started doing that.
*audible chewing noises*
Damian: do you want the genuine honest answer?
Jason: please god do tell
Damian: so- and you aren’t allowed to laugh. but when I first came to Gotham and I showed up at the manor, father obviously had to give me a tour of the place, right?
Jason: yeah.
Damian: and they wanted to do a DNA test to check that my mother wasn’t pulling a fast one by claiming my birthright, so the first place he showed me was the cave, which was also where Tim was.
Jason: *hums*
Damian: and you know that place- the first time you went to the cave, it was wild, right?
Jason: oh, like walking into the tardis for the first time. insane.
Damian: exactly. all high-tech and shit, and I’d just come from the desert compound I’d spent my entire life in- like, my first time going into the kitchen at the manor I saw Alfred loading the dishwasher and my first thought was ‘oh my god what the fuck kind of machine is that-‘
Jason: *abrupt cackle*
Damian: -so the fucking cave for the first time? as a little desert-boy ten year old? I was a little distracted,
Jason, chuckling slightly: ok, fair,
Damian: and so I’m zoned the fuck out, looking around this cave and not paying attention to anything father’s saying, and then I finally tune back in just to hear the words ‘-ackson drake’ while he like, tries to introduce me to Tim.
Jason: *slowly starts laughing again*
Damian, raising his voice to be heard over Jason’s increasing beats of laughter: -and so I’m fucking standing there, ten years old, no clue what this kid’s first name is, and everybody’s looking at me like I’m supposed to be the one fucking talking right now, and ALL I can think of is my mother, who before she shipped me off to Gotham completely alone kept fucking telling me ‘Damian you have to be strong and show that you deserve to be the Batman’s blood son. show no weakness and take the mantle you were born to have; show no fucking hesitance.’, so I’M panicking,
Jason, still cackling: *a clap* NO I DO- I DO REMEMBER, LIKE, BACK IN THE LEAGUE-, holy shit back in the league when your only coping mechanism for not knowing the fuck was going on around you, was literally just to pretend you knew what the fuck was going on around you and bullshit till you make it,
Damian: WELL IT WAS LIKE THE ONLY FUCKING THING MY MOTHER TAUGHT ME-
Jason, through tears: -that’s why I didn’t say shit when I came back to Gotham and found you fucking, doing all this blood son bullshit! You started calling me Todd and speaking in old english and I was just like ‘bless him he’s terrified, just leave him be’
Damian: *cackles* and I did- I did appreciate you going along with it, because back when this happened I panicked and just started calling Tim ‘Drake’ because I was too embarrassed to ask him for his first name, and then by the time I heard somebody else call him Tim in passing, everybody had just assumed this was a thing I did. and I was too socially awkward to clear it up and switch back, so I just had to stick to Drake.
Jason: *wheeze* a-and Grayson?
Damian: well at first I just went along with the surname thing out of awkwardness, but then I’d gone too deep and I had no way out- AND THEN- and then Batman fucking died-
Jason: *wheeze*
Damian: -and I went from being parented by the gymnastics version of the dark lord to being gentle-parented by fucking Nightwing-
Jason, choking: holy- holy shit-
Damian: do you know what it’s like to go from *gruff voice* ‘Damian we don’t fucking kill, give me the katana or I’ll put you in Arkham’ to *high pitched, sweet voice* ‘oh hey Dames, obviously I can’t stop you from killing but I really would appreciate it if we discussed all our options and came to a mature decision together on what’s best in this scenario-‘
Jason: *crying, silent wheezes*
Damian: so DURING all this I’m trying to subtly switch back to using peoples actual names, except it fucking backfired because people just assumed I was calling Richard Richard because we had that special parental mentor bond, and Tim had pissed off to- whatever he was doing in the desert for six months- getting a hysterectomy or whatever the fuck happened-
Jason, amused: hysterectomy- he lost a spleen, Dames
Damian: well whatever happened he wasn’t AROUND for me to shift to calling him Tim! and when father was back I’d made no progress and was back to square one, except this time I was stuck calling one brother Richard and the other Drake!
Jason, still laughing: and this is where I came in?
Damian: I felt BAD! I’d already taken Robin from the guy, I didn’t want him to feel like he was lesser of a brother to me than Richard. So I demoted you to Todd so he wouldn’t feel alone.
Jason: very thoughtful.
Jason: we should probably get you a therapist, dude. I think everybody forgets that when you showed up you were literally just a very confused immigrant child with no experience of normal social interaction apart from me at the league.
Damian: oh I was like, 60% into an anxiety attack consistently for the first two years I was in the city.
Jason: *snorts*
Damian: the first time I was left alone with Tim we were in the kitchen and he said ‘do you want wifi?’ and, y’no, coming from the league, barely any tech and the only normality was the concept of fighting to the death over everything, MY instinctual ten-year-old thought was ‘oh shit, wifi must be slang for brawl here, we’re about to fight’-
Jason: *laughter* you’re fucking kidding
Damian: -so I’m like, so be it, and I say ‘come on then’ and get ready to start punching, only for him to turn around and grab a piece of card stuck to the fridge and hold it out to me,
Jason: *cackles*
Damian: and he goes ‘here’s the password so you can connect, I’m assuming you have a phone or something’-which I fucking didn’t by the way, my mother gave me a shitty flip-phone to call her in emergencies but it didn’t use wifi-, and he’s holding it out to me and I had to like, subtly shift my posture out of the defensive position I’d been in-,
Jason, delirious from laughter: this is the fucking best. thing.
Damian: -and I take it from him, and he gives me this weird look like he has no idea how to communicate with me, and I was just like ‘shit I might have to kill this one, it’s the only way to get out of this interaction’.
Jason: *wheeze* if we go through the timeline, every murder attempt on Tim’s life has just been an occasion where you’ve felt socially awkward and didn’t see any other way out of conversation,
Damian: pretty much, yeah. I should have been on xanax for those first few years.
Jason: stories from your first years in Gotham are my favourite thing in the world.
*a few silent beats*
Tim: are you telling me I’ve been stuck as Drake for YEARS all because Damian’s fucking scared of social interaction?!
*crashing sound*
Jason: HOLY FUCK-
Damian: OH MY GOD I FORGOT WE WERE CONNECTED TO THE MAIN LINE-
I was wondering if you could do headcannons of the Saja boys with a demon s/o that’s a little weirdo? Like maybe she has a very odd hyper fixation like embalming, poisons, spirits, etc. She could be a little eerie looking, still pretty but theirs just something off. Maybe one of the boys hears their fans bashing the reader on her interests or appearance and instantly shut in down publicly?
the tales of five demon boys & their delightfully disturbing lovers
saja boys x gn!demon!reader (separate)
note: they ended up longer than i inteded TT i'm getting used to writing hcs, sorry!
jinu + a spirit-whisperer s/o
when jinu first met you, he was convinced you were possessed. like actually.
demons are evil and weird—he included, of course, he has his own fair share of hobbies. but you were different
you would mutter in latin to the air and say things like “don’t step there—he hates being walked through.”
sometimes you would stop mid-conversation to stare at something in the air and say, “can you not breathe down my neck right now?”
jinu can't see them, which makes it all the more scary.
how can a demon be scared of ghosts? he doesn't know.
but jinu fell inlove still.
and your spirit friends actually, genuinely, liked him.
their approval gives him pride, like he was asking your parents to court you.
jinu thinks your quirks that humans deemed 'weird' were what made you all the more beautiful.
he never found you weird.
not once. not even when you left cups of tea in the hallway and whispered to empty rooms like you were tucking invisible children into bed. if anything, it made the world feel less lonely.
most people said the word ghost with fear in their voices.
you said it like family. and jinu was welcomed into that little family of yours.
jinu had grown used to hearing you talk to the air. to them. like bakunawa, the ancient spirit who refused to sit unless the tea was boiling, steam hissing. or gertrude, an old lady, who hovered around his lover like a protective auntie, brushing your hair when you fell asleep.
sometimes, he’d catch glimpses—just shapes and flickers of movement. but it was your stories that brought them to life.
he'd make you tea and listen. no judgment. he listens and gets to know the spirits you were so fond of.
because in your world—between the living and the dead—you were never alone.
and neither was he. h had grown to love them, too.
but it was only a matter of time before his fans knew of your existence. not that he was hiding you deliberately, but kpop fans were just whole other level of nightmare to control.
he wasn’t even sure how they found you.
regardless, the storm hit fast.
your face was everywhere, and the nickname "spirit freak" was trending.
“they need help.”
“jinu’s dating a that freak??”
“is he being posessed because why them? that's so creepy.”
“someone check his house for ouija boards.”
the worst ones weren't just mocking. they quickly turned violent. threats. doxxing. they managed to catch wind of your cellphone number and blew up your notifications with nonstop threats that made you feel disgusted.
mortals were scarier than ghosts; demons, even.
they didn't faze you, of course. you are a decade older than the rest of this sorry population. you wouldn't stoop so low as to dignify their taunts with any more response—you don't care much.
but jinu cares alot more than you realized.
he didn’t go online. he didn’t tweet, didn’t post, didn’t stream.
everyone thinks it's because he was weighing his options. that, or he finally woke up from this 'nightmare' of a relationship—according to his fans.
but what the public didn't know was that he spent three weeks studying defamation laws, cybercrime statutes, digital harassment ordinances. he skipped meals to do his research thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned.
he compiled every tweet, every handle, every traceable threat; especially those that were sent to your phone.
when the lawsuits dropped, the media exploded
“Multiple Pride Fans Facing Court Action from SAJA BOYS's Jinu’s Legal Team.”
he didn’t post a statement.
he didn’t need to.
his silence did all the talking.
abby + an embalmer s/o
you're a 10/10 but owns 5 vintage embalming kits and a preserved raven in your entryway.
when abby first visited your home it smelled like clove oil and faint formaldehyde.
abby once asked if that was a perfume, only to be surprised of the answer.
the shock wore off quick, though, because he didn't really understand what it really is and what it was for. "what's a floramahehaye?"
abby actually likes your job. he doesn't care about humans so it didn't really faze him when you knew of your occupation and hobbies.
if anything, he would volunteer sometimes when you're studying about human anatomy.
mostly because his abs, his proud and joy, fascinated you so much.
he's very smug about it actually.
as a demon, you spent most of your early existence buried deep within the earth’s crust, surrounded by a screaming fire lord and lava rivers and imps who couldn’t didn't have anything more to do than wallow in despair. you didn’t like hell—everyone doesn't. it was too loud, too hot, too full of shame. but you were used to it.
until you started watching humans.
they were delicate. complicated. tender. they lived fast and rotted faster.
you wanted to understand them.
so, naturally… when you were given the chance to stay on the surface, you took a job where you could open them up and study what they left behind.
embalming was never about death. to you, it was about learning. it was preserving. honoring the shell left behind.
your coworkers thought you were a little off. not that you would blame though. your uncanny precision, your fascination with each organ’s texture, your absolute indifference to that iron smell—but you never let it bother you.
and abby doesn't too.
your first time meeting, you were shamelessly staring and he absolutely drank that attention up.
he was unnaturally pretty. not like “idol pretty,” more like if the concept of youth itself hit the gym. broad shoulders, pretty mouth, lashes long enough to dust a corpse’s cheek, and those godsent, chiseled, mouth-watering abs.
you didn’t mean to fall in love.
and when you once murmured your confession, “i wonder what your heart looks like outside of your ribcage,” he just grinned and said, “kinda sweet. kinda terrifying. i'd give it to you if i could, though.”
he never made you feel like a freak.
so when fans found out who you were. when your job, your calling, became the butt of every joke online—it crushed him.
it started with a leaked photo. you, in your lab coat, smiling serenely as you adjusted a body’s jaw. it was taken out of context and plastered everywhere.
“abby’s lover is a corpse freak???”
“THEY HANDLE DEAD PEOPLE FOR FUN.”
“what happened to dating normal people.”
“wouldn't be surprised if abby's dead one day with an open stomach lolol. what a freak."
the comments weren’t just cruel. they were invasive. some found your workplace and showed up outside, calling you all the names on the book.
you nearly lost your job.
abby didn’t wait for the PR team to draft an apology. apology for what? he wasn't sorry for loving you. he ignored the company meetings taht called to him for damage control.
and three days later, at the next fansign, he arrived wearing a tight white t-shirt.
on the front, in bold red gothic lettering: "EMBALM ME, MOMMY."
and on the below it is a large, flattering photo of your face—taken when you weren’t looking. probably in your embalming room. you had a scalpel in one hand and a slight smile on your lips. you looked beautiful.
mystery + a poison-obsessed s/o
your kitchen looked like a potion lab. bottles of liquid with caution plastered all over them.
your kisses sometimes tasted like bitter almonds or lemon balm.
you have a garden in your backyard solely for growing herbs.
you labeled your garden beds like “mild paralysis” and “emotional support toxicity."
he liked it.
sometimes he’d join you, fingers brushing yours as you crushed petals into paste.
mystery: you drank WHAT?
you, grinning: only a sip. i just wanted to know if it numbed my tongue—turns out, it does!
true to his name, he would sometimes ask you to let him taste some of them too
mystery wasn’t sure when it became normal to wake up to the smell of crushed wolfsbane and jasmine tea.
he just knew that when he saw your apron covered in petal dust and your fingers stained faintly green, it felt like home.
you were strange.
you were a poisoner.
not an assassin—just a curious one. a demon with a flair for toxicology and herbal pharmacology. you’d been alive for centuries and tasted everything from heavenly herbs that made angels cry to the extract of a root so potent it made your vision turn sideways for a week.
he once caught you licking a leaf, then calmly scribbling down symptoms in a leather-bound notebook.
“just tingling this time,” you had mumbled, smiling.
mystery stared at you for ten full seconds before croaking out, "honey, you ingested… all of that?!”
you just blinked, head tilting slightly. "it was for science. science tasted kind of burning though."
he nearly died of a heart attack. not from your herbs—just you being you.
but did he ever stop you? no.
he was mystery, after all. and you? you were every dark thrill he never knew he needed.
you were careful, really. but one photo of your windowsill garden—specifically the belladonna and monkshood—somehow surfaced on a gossip account. then someone dug deeper and found your blog; a poison-for-research journal filled with herb tests, absorption rates, even antidote recipes you’d developed yourself.
the internet of course lost its mind.
some fans began speculating even the smallest things like his energy drinks having odd colors and were convinced you were poisoning him slowly.
#SaveMystery
“that freak is literally feeding him poison!”
“they're a murderer, i swear.”
mystery read them out loud with a deadpan face. "they're not exactly wrong though," he comments as he zooms in on a picture his fans posted of his 'odd drink.' "you put wolfsbane here, right? they're exaggerating though. didn't kill me."
you squinted at the picture he was holding up. "oh that? that's just vitamins.”
mystery blinked. "what?"
you chuckled. "you think i'd feed you something dangerous? you big goof. they're all vitamins. ever wondered why your skin is glowing and you're healthy as a baby?"
"what."
mystery felt betrayed that you didn't poison him like he believed you did. in fact, he's so butthurt about it he decided to rant about it on his live.
in the garden, pretending to be sad as he expressed how he was deeply hurt by his lover's actions, ignoring his angry fans that flooded his comments—all the while you were working in the background with your frilly apron, tending to your garden.
"you're all wrong. they aren't poisoning me. in fact, i found out rhey've been sneaking vitamins and immunity boosters into my food this whole time, and i, frankly, feel betrayed that my glowing skin is natural.”
you peeked from behind him, holding something in your hands.
“this one’s elderberry and magnesium. want it in your smoothie?”
he nodded solemnly. “yes, please.”
the fans had long since stopped trying to protect mystery because he clearly doesn't want it. who whines on live about not being poisoned by their lover?
romance + dollmaker s/o
he met you during a fansign when you showed him a picture of your next doll project: the saja boys.
creepy button eyes and sewn mouths, unfinished, but still creepy
thought it was a prank.
realized it wasn’t and said, “nice detail on the jawline.”
perhaps the mini doll of himself that you made was cursed, but it hangs on his bags permanently.
the thing actually purred and he was elated.
he brags about it to his members.
romance had always been used to fans doing bold things. letters written in blood (food coloring, hopefully) life-size cardboard cutouts of him left at hotel lobbies, one girl even proposed with a ring pop.
but nothing—and he means nothing—could’ve prepared him for you.
you arrived at the fansign table dressed sweetly enough, nothing out of the ordinary. fans likes dressing uo for these occassions, it wasn't anythinf new. but what you placed in front of him had romance.exe malfunctioning.
it was a doll. a creepy, uncanny-valley doll. big head, button eyes, sewn lips, and somehow… his exact jawline...?
“is this… me?” romance asked, blinking, and you nodded, excited. “yes! and here’s the rest of your group, but j spent the most time on you. i even added your tattoos!”
at first, he thought it was a prank. maybe, there was joke he missed.
but then you pulled out stitching diagrams. color palettes. handmade clothes. and you started yapping and you just looked so passionatr about it that he couldn't even bring himself to say anything bad.
he eyes the doll, fiddling with its hair. it was very real. and kind of creepy, he swore it would start walking if left in a room alone. but also… he's shockingly flattering?
“i look nice here, actually,” he said, grinning. “perfectly captured my jawline.”
romance hadn’t stopped thinking about you. the dolls were weird—but you weren’t. besides, anyone who paid that much attention to his features? yeah. he doesn't mind one bit.
you were dating quietly, secretly. he loved visiting your apartment—shelves lined with little haunting faces, half-stitched limbs, eyes in jars waiting for placement. dors he find it creepy? absolutely. but your focus, your joy, your pride in every weird little creation?
he loved that even more.
you once handed him a tiny version of himself. a keychain doll. “for luck,” you said. and he has it always, ALWAYS, hanging on his bags. he swore the mini-romance purred when it sat beside the mini-version of you on his nightstand.
if it was a curse, he’d never felt more lucky.
one day, during a casual vlog in his apartment, fans noticed something in the background.
two dolls.
not just any dolls. your dolls, but they didn't know that yet. it was very clearly a couple's item. one of him and one of… someone else. a striking resemblance to a photo they'd seen from an obscure art account.
the internet did its thing.
within hours, fans had connected the dots. your etsy store. your blog with antique doll restorations. they even managed to dig up the blurry photos of you behind him on some vlogs he had carelessly posted.
“that freak collection is dating romance???”
“THEY PUT HIS SOUL IN A DOLL, GUYS.”
“those dolls probably blink at night.”
“they're gonna curse the whole group. watch.”
the hate was immediate and brutal. they called you everything from creep to witch.
the hate had been building for days. rumors of your “witchcraft,” the conspiracy threads claiming you’d stolen romance’s soul and trapped it inside a life-sized doll made of bone dust and silk; they flooded comment sections with hex emojis. fans even speculated you had a whole graveyard in your apartment.
romance merely lets them bark. he let them foam.
and then he announced a solo comeback.
no teaser. no album name. just a picture of his new merch on his account.
on a worn velvet armchair sat the doll. rhe very first one you made. slumped slightly, hands on its lap. it stared directly at the camera.
the photo captures every detail of the doll that he called mini-romance. on his heart was an embroidery of your name in red thread.
"she made me with her hands. now you can hold a piece of me too. preorders now open."
baby + an s/o that loves haunted artifacts
this one? wasn't fazed in the slightest.
he actually liked accompanying you to go store hopping, even if most of the stores you visited were eerie.
he hels you arrange them sometimes.
he would even help you with installing shelves for your little trinkets.
he once caught the porcelain hand on your desk waving at him and he waved back.
baby’s been many things in life. a demon, idol, walking disaster with a voice like sin—uh... that's kinda it, to be honest. but scared? never.
so when he started dating you, the only real shock wasn’t your hobby… it was how into it he got.
your apartment looked like the aftermath of a haunted estate sale—crucifixes, ouija boards sealed in glass cases, dolls missing one eye but “don’t worry, she sees just fine,” and shelves of jars with things inside he doesn't to ask about.
your prized possession? a cracked music box from the 1800s that played by itself at 3 a.m. every third thursday.
“it’s a spiritual warning,” you explained sweetly.
he blinked, shrugging his shoulders as he holds the music box carefully. “well, the melody kinda slaps. mind if i sample it for our next song?"
baby genuinely loved your weirdness.
you’d get excited explaining where your “possessed” trinkets came from, describing the terrifying rumors around each one. he’d nod along, snack in hand, letting you ramble for hours like you were narrating a true crime doc he was deeply invested in.
“this mirror’s from an asylum that burned down.”
“dope.”
“if you stare into it too long, you see your past life.”
“bet mine was hot too.”
baby was actually one of the members who was pretty open about your relationship, which is no wonder why everyonr had been questioning his sanity the moment they first discovered your love for weird and creepy things.
at first, he ignored it. it didn't matter what the public said anyway, he didn't care about them. it didn't seem like you cared either.
“is baby okay?? that room is CURSED.”
“i swear i heard someone singing inside the bathroom.”
“his lover is a witch. or a demon. or both.”
“SOMEONE GET HIM OUT OF THERE.”
but a particular request from you made him sigh. you asked, innocently, so gently, if you could show his fans your trinkets so they wouldn't be so scared.
so, thats why he found himself setting up in the middle of your living room.
the live started with a low hum.
not from the camera, but from the background. something in a jar on that third shelf was vibrating. which is something that happens everyday. the chat doesn't know that though and they were going absolutely nuts.
omg is that the haunted jar??
WHAT IS THAT NOISE
who let baby go live unsupervised again
IS THAT A DOLL IN THE BACK
why is it BLINKING
then baby appeared onscreen—grinning, holding his phone like a microphone. he waved lazily. “sup.”
behind him, your famously haunted living room was in full display. crucifixes, preserved bones, jars that kept rocking about, and many more things that the chat didn't want to see.
he stepped back, then gestured off-camera. “okay, listen up. i brought someone.”
you stepped into view, sheepishly waving at the camera.
baby leaned into the frame again, eyes narrowed in a glare. "they're going to show off their favorite artifacts and your only job is to clap and say good things. you're going to play nice, got it?”
then he retreated to the back, letting you have the spotlight while he crossed his arms, glarimg from behind you.
“okay, babe. show ‘em your favorites. i'll be back here, not getting possessed. probably.”
synopsis: you’re a low-level paperwork clerk demon who somehow ended up hired (threatened) by a smug, too-pretty demon named Jinu to become the manager of the demon realm’s first-ever demon boy band. all because he accidentally found your boy band concept sketches.
it was getting kinda long so i thought i’d make a separate post with all the chapters.
Would you be willing to write fic where the reader is also a demon amongst the group, but they don't know off hand?
They have a sense that something is different about the reader, but they can't place it until the reader legit jumps in to protect them against Huntr/x? And they see the reader full on demon mode, full on dressage, with the eyes, elongated fingers and purple marks?
Ps: I love your writing!! <3
under your nose
saja boys x gn!demon!reader
themes: kpdh spoiler, angst (?), fighting (hints of blood & violence), diverges from canon a bit
note: thank you so much for the request! i just want to say sorry in advance if i wasn't able to do it justice 🙂↕️ i suck at writing fighting scenes! i didn't know how to end this and became too lomg im so sorry TT
side note: just for dramatics, demons don't disappear immediately as soon as they are injured.
jinu prided himself on being the smartest among them.
the long game. the weight of shame woven through every performance, every comeback; he carried all, the knowledge that everyone who had ever loved he and his group were doomed to fall soon. afterall, he was the one who first proposed this plan to gwi-ma.
centuries of being stuck in hell made him smarter. it allowed to become observant. patient. it took many, agonizing years for him to come up with this plan. the process was slow and doubtful, he wasn't sure if it would even work. but in return, he got a taste of freedom on the surface. limited, but still there and not ten feet under. he managed to strike a deal with gwi-ma once more for a chance to forget everything—a deal so tempting that gwi-ma didn't think twice and sent him up here with four other demons like him.
and tonight, it was meant to be the crowning moment of it all.
he had successfully broken up the huntrix. all of south korea's eyes were on them. the stadium was booked, overflowing with people. it was going to be a feast, exactly like how gwi-ma wanted it.
south korea. the vibrant, foolish south korea would fall into gwi-ma’s open jaws tonight.
he watches from behind the stage as the crowd poured in mindlessly, completely filling in the seats. his heart pounds against his ears as guilt and shame pulled at his soul. centuries cannot erase the fact that he had a heart once.
but everything was in place. there wss no room for hesitation.
jinu's eyes wandered towards you who was standing not far off, talking to some of his members.
you were not like them. you were a mortal. their manager who applied unknowingly when they were looking for one. humans assigned to oversee them during their performance and take care of them behind the scenes.
jinu admits that their lives on the surface was somehow easier with your help.
but mortals were just disposable tools. you were helpful, yes, but in the end, you were just being used for what you were worth—just like the five of them. later, tonight, you'd lose your soul to gwi-ma too.
but jinu isn't sure if he's okay with that at all.
mystery thinks you were something.
something. in a sense that you didn't feel like human at all.
from the beginning, there had been something off about you. a picture perfect resume that seemed too good to be true. when you looked at then, there was something about your gaze that reminded him of something familiar. you were calm. almost cold, even.
the members all think it too.
and they'd study you, of course.
perhaps, there were mortals out there just like you—the epitome of professionalism. you stand tall, straight, unbothered of their shenanigans. you were smart and precise and controlled. you handled them all like a conductor guiding chaos.
but sometimes, baby thinks, when he looked at you, there was a flicker of moment where your eyes didn't look human.
baby always thought it was his imagination. a trick of light. he might not be as smart as jinu was, but he was observant to a fault. yet, despite the things he'd seen, he would brush it off.
he noticed the way you'd enter the room, foot light despite the creaking floor. romance even commented that you could kill them if you so wanted to, because they wouldn't know you were behind them if they didn't physically look at you.
or how you always seemed to know where each of them were, even without looking. abby once hid himself in a prop room for half an hour, and while the rest of the staff was in a frenzy, you just sighed and walked directly to him. no hesitation in your foosteps as you popped the room open without no problem.
baby thinks you're some kind of witch. that, or you're just really good at your job.
mystery said you never even blinked once. everyone was confused why he knew that but eventually, found themselves staring at you and waiting for you to blink too.
mystery said alot of things that they never really thought to notice, actually. how, despite your organized self, your handwriting would change slightly depending on what time of day it was. never consistent, like a baby learning how to write. no one really cares about it—who cares about how you wrote? they all have ugly penmanship anyway.
still, even with all the signs, they never really believed. because you laughed too easily. you seemed too human despite all that was accused of you. you bitched about brand deals like a mortal. hell, you even threatened to fire jinu once—jinu, of all people—for showing up late to dance practice and called him 'a pretty face with the emotional intelligence of a spoon.'
and you knew this. it wasn't hard to figure out there were all suspecting you. their eyes lingered far too long than normal and sometimes, without subtlety, they would even ask bluntly of your nature. "manager-nim, are you sure you're human?" you never bothered to answer, it wasn't part of your job to entertain them, afterall.
you were never supposed to care.
gwi-ma had made that very clear when he summoned you from the depths of hell and branded your purpose into your spine.
“watch them,” he had hissed, his flames licked at your skin and stretched towards the sky. “watch them, and ensure they do not forget who they serve.”
you weren't sent to assist. you weren't sent to nurture, to guide, or to scold like some babysitter for little children.
no, you were a leash. a dog. gwi-ma's eyes on the surface.
disguised as a manager, you were his eyes and ears. a reminder that even when they walked freely on earth, hell was still watching. hell was listening. and hell had expectations.
you were merely following orders.
for the first few weeks of handling them, you did your job with ruthless efficiency. scheduled their concerts and performances, making sure they were on top of everything, plastered in every billboard across cities. you even vetted photographers, producers, even stylists, eliminating anyone who got too close. you ensured the boys remained beautiful and loved, because that's what the public wants. monsters dressed in silk.
but things had began to shift.
what was second nature to you was slowly being overwritten with laughters and gentle voices.
you had grown soft.
you had grown to care. alot.
it was subtle at first. a glimmer of amusement when abby started re-writing lyrics to make his members laugh during a recording. a flicker of pride when mystery would hit a high note and the crowd would eat it up, his name trending on ever social media platforms there was. they were all starting to grow on you. slowly grilpimg at your heart.
you tried to stay cold and indifferent. you were all just trying to fulfill your missions, afterall.
but they kept worming into your days and nights, these demons and their silly little quirks. they were cruel and chaotic and charming and so deeply lonely. they reminded you of yourself. and—shit, you really are going soft, huh?
perhaps, living as a human for a few months made you forget you weren't one.
and gwi-ma noticed.
of course he did.
he always did.
it began with the whispers; claws of voices curling in your ears in the dead of night, hissing your name like a curse. louder than before as they ring against your ears. then the burning of every part of your body where patterns branded your skin, reminding you who you belonged to.
you don’t feel.
you watch.
that was he ordered and what he expected of you.
but something inside you had already begun to crack. maybe it was jinu’s unspoken glances, concern flickering in his eyes when you become distant for a while. maybe it was abby's dumb, loyal grin when you keep yelling at him for messing up. maybe, maybe maybe.
maybe it was the way they looked at you like you were someone. that you were more than just a dog on a leash or a demon imp.
the concert began as planned.
the five of them were onstage, leading the crowd like gods as they swayed mindlessly towards gwi-ma's roaring flame. the broken seal of the honmoon pulsed weakly as it slowly dispersed.
but somehow, in some way, the demon hunters managed to resurface them. all their efforts in breaking them up were in vein as the huntrix stood across them on stage, weapons drawn as they stared straight at them. taunting them to continue.
you watched from behind as two opposing forces fought. gwi-ma ripping open a portal at the center to summon thousands of demons to try and deter the huntrix, only for them to fail.
you swore your heart raced the moment the boys moved to fight. your boys.
they moved fast. the huntrix wasted no time in attacking, tearing through the flesh of your own kind. their screams echoing and bouncing against the walls of the stadium. the hunters' weapons gleaming, reflecting gwi-ma's red flames.
you stayed rooted on your spot, watching with baited breath as your boys were sent flying towards the hunters; no doubt ordered by gwi-ma. jinu stood behind, however, watching the disaster unfold as he grapples against his doubts. he was weighing his options.
your breath hitched, something primal clawing up your throat as abby’s scream tore through the air. somewhere to your left, he bellowed—a sound that was more beast than the charming man he was—and crumpled forward, clutching at his abdomen where a long gash leaked red down his bare torso. the glow from the hunter’s blade still hissed against his skin, searing his flesh with every movement. he tried to stand, but stumbled, knees buckling.
romance was already there, arms wrapped around him. “i got you, you oaf,” he muttered under his breath, dragging abby away as far as he could.
jinu’s eyes were burning holes into the collapsing wreckage, watching as his fellow brothers started to fall. he shouldn't have underestimated them. they shouldn't have thought it would be this easy.
he turns to look at you who stood from behind the stage, heart clenching at the look of horror stricken on your face. a part of him was scared to see how you looked at them now that you knew what they were, but a part of him was also asking, begging, for help.
it's funny, right? a demon asking help from human.
it felt like he was back in the studio again, pleading at you to help him fix things whenever he messed up. you were their manager—the one who always supported them from the back. you were always there whenever they needed help with something. kind of like an older sister, a mother, perhaps, who kept an eye on them and protected them from the world.
jinu felt like a child, but somewhere deep down, as he stares at you, he was pleading.
that look in his eyes broke you and you couldn’t look at him for long.
not when baby screamed something guttural and threw himself toward jinu, who seemed to be out of his goddamn mind, shoving him out of the way in an attempt to take the blade meant for him.
you moved before your mind could catch up, body propelled by instinct. you find yourself on the center of the stage, holding rumi's blade between your claws as you struggled to keep it from tearing through your flesh. your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as your tattoos flared on your skin.
your body shook with the impact as the hunter stared at you in shock, only to press down harder, forcing you back a step. then another.
your feet slid across the polished stage. your human skin was slowly fading, giving way to the patterns that you wanted so bad to erase. they flared up like burning brands across your body. purple, curling like the ink of some divine script across your arms, your neck, your face. your claws, long and black, scraping against the metal of the hunter's spear.
"a... demon...?" you hear baby whisper from behind you, crouching beside jinu who only looked at you in disbelief.
you didn’t turn around but you felt them.
all five. the demons–your demons, bruised and breathless and bleeding, now behind you instead of in front. safe, for now.
baby crouched beside jinu, wide-eyed, watching the scene like he was watching a dream unravel in real time. jinu… still sat in silence, eyes trained on your back like he was trying to redraw every memory he’d ever had of you and failing to make the puzzle fit.
you gritted your teeth, holding the blade in place as it inched closer and closer to your chest.
rumi’s expression twisted into one of fury. “you were one of his.” her voice shook. “a demon. you’re gwi-ma’s.”
"get out of the way!" you pressed back, voice trembling but loud enough to be heard. you don't address the hunters, not bothering to dignify her with a response, instead you screamed. "get your fucking asses up and move, you idiots!"
the boys stirred, looking at each other. romance was the first to speam, limping forward on his injured foot that still has yet to heal, his lip split but still had the audacity to grin. “okay. that’s hot. but also—someone help our manager?!”
mystery stood up, dragging abby along with him. the long gash on the red-hair's abdomen was slowly being stitched together—very painfully slow. “they're stalling. come one, we have to go.”
“you heard them. we're in the way,” abby snarled, struggling to stand up despite his fellow demon's support. "let's move and come up with another plan."
"jinu?"
all four turned towards jinu, their leader, who has yet to move an inch. he merely stared at your back, his eyes trailing the purple patterns that decorated your skin were the fabric of your clothes tore.
"jinu? let's go, man."
there was only ringing in his ears until you whispered; your voice raw and trembling, muscles shaking and arms slowly giving way. "jinu, please, you have to move."
rumi watched it all unfold, her hold on her spear faltering. demons, just like her, yet with feelings so raw that it made them look so humane. her eyes flickered from you towards the five who looked at her in fear and she wonders what were they fighting for all this time.
gwi-ma roars in fury from behind you, cackling and taunting as his flames stretched high. she hears her friends from behind her, fighting off more demons being summoned, slowly getting tired and overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. and she sees you, who struggled to keep yourself from breaking just to be able to protect people you cherished so much, trying your best to break free from gwi-ma's binding.
maybe, she thought, not all demons are that bad.
because nothing she’d been taught, nothing she’d been raised to believe, ever told her that demons could love. not this way. not raw and desperate and selfless. the look in your eyes were anything but malice. you didn't want to hurt, but driven on a primal instinct to protect.
she could see your knees quivering, shoulders locked in pain. the patterns that seemed to be burning your skin, adding to the pain of her blade scraping your palms. you weren’t going to last much longer. you were breaking the seal that gwi-ma had carved into your soul, and it was killing you.
but you did it anyway. for them.
she looked again—at jinu who was looking at you in desparation. all five demons, who she believed to be cold-blooded and cruel and evil, scrambling to find ways to help you.
and rumi faltered.
the burning light of her spear dimmed, just slightly, as her grip loosened because she understood something then. something she’d been too blinded to see.
not all demons are the same.
not when you looked like that.
not when they looked at you like that.
maybe, she thought, just maybe, everything they’d believed—everything they’d fought for—wasn’t black and white after all.
not when the devil’s puppet was the one bleeding to protect others.
not when the “monsters” cowered behind you like scared children.
not when love looked like this.
and with all the force she could muster, rumi shoved you backward.
you yelped as your feet left the ground, tumbling back toward the five boys who instinctively reached for you. arms wrapped around you in an attempt to catch you. baby caught your shoulders and mystery pulled you in. jinu, eyes wide, cradled your head so you didn’t hit the stage. you crashed into them like fate pulling you back into place.
you turn to find her rushing towards gwi-ma instead.
You want Tim to give up Robin because you think he’s outgrown it, I want him to give up Robin because I want him to have a breakdown about it, we are not the same
fake relationship but its a king and his concubine that was once an amazing soldier but he couldn’t go up the ranks for whatever reason so the king was like listen. hear me out. you can be my strategy dude. u just gotta be okay w walking around shirtless a lot. and soldier dude is like man that’s an UPSIDE and yknow they end up falling in love
some idiot advisor: I can’t believe his majesty lets his boytoy attend these council meetings, it’s an insult to the noble institutions that uphold our nation, it’s an outrage—
a somewhat smarter advisor: you’re just mad bc he pointed out how dumb your naval attack strategy and no one laughed when you made a mean joke about him
Boytoy has gone from a top fighter who was well respected but in constant danger to wearing silks and eating grapes on daises. That fucked up rotator cuff was the best thing to ever happen to him
Bonus points: at least half the other concubines are experts in assorted fields, the monarch brings them to relevant meetings to both play up a reputation for frivolity, and make sure at least one person there doesn’t have an outside agenda.
The kingdom is an absolute monarchy but the harem has become a secret meritocracy. The nobles and official advisors kind of side-eye His Majesty because wow some of these consorts must have like…really good personalities. Kings of the past have had their own specific tastes of course; size, shape, age, color, et cetera. More than one ruler has interviewed consorts feet first and Ardwin the Adventurous’s obsession - God rest him - with snuffling armpits like a sow rooting for mushrooms is well known despite never being alluded to in polite company.
The worst part of it is that the new king takes at least part of his harem with him everywhere and it’s so embarrassing. The Counselors of War have never once met with His Divine Majesty without that hulking battle-scarred consort interrupting with muttered growls or scornful snorts. And the Ministers of Finance all flinch at the sight of that fox-faced one, rumored to have been rescued from the gallows because His Augustness took a fancy to his eyes or some such nonsense. General petition days are even worse, with practically the entire harem drifting in and out of the Grand Hall in turns, insouciant and smug like granary cats who know they’ve been given full run of the courtyards and barns.
It’s absolutely infuriating that the kingdom has never before known such a period of peace and prosperity under this ridiculous monarch.
in the next batman movie selina is back in town to con bruce wayne which he knows but he missed her so much and obviously he can afford it so he just lets her
she reveals she's robbed him and he's like oh that's fine lol if you needed money you could have just asked :) and writes her a check for a million dollars and asks when he can see her again and she's like dang this guy is insane??
she expects batman to try to stop her at some point but he never does so she concludes that he just really hates bruce wayne for some reason which makes him all the more attractive
batman realizes she's falling for bruce for real and he's not even jealous he's just like "you really like him? 🥺 that's great 🥺" and selina's like wtf
anyway she sneaks into bruce's study or whatever to crack the safe hidden behind the painting and it's full of roses, jewelry, bruce's blank checkbook and a little note asking her to dinner. he thinks that this is normal behavior btw
he has never had a girlfriend in his life <3 selina can't decide if he's stupid or brilliant but he IS cute she was determined to hate him but he's actually really sweet and it drives her insane bc she likes him against her will suddenly she is pissed at batman for apparently hating him anyway i am rotating them in my mind <3 bruce is like this is great. i am getting a good grade in dating something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve and selina is like this guy is insane. i want to rob him. i want to study him like a bug. i want to kiss him in the moonlight
The Unpopular Truth About the Batfam and DC as a Whole.
*TW brief mention of CSA*
(Edited for clarifications)
DC is inconsistent on its best days. There are infinite universes, and literally every timeline and AU that DC creates is technically canon, no matter how terrible it is.
For example, when I was a kid watching Teen Titans, I thought Slade was awesome! He was my favorite villain for a long while. Low and behold, I get older, read more comics, and realize that he’s a pedo. While I still think he’s a fantastic villain, that certainly took him down a few pegs in my brain.
(Edit: this is just a me thing. You are still allowed to like a morally bad character so long as you recognize that what they do is bad.)
If someone says their favorite villain is Heath Ledger’s Joker, I don’t bat an eye. If someone says that Alan Moore’s Joker is their favorite, I get concerned.
(Edit: this is in reference to the dudebros who relate to the Joker a little too much. You know the type.)
Same thing goes for the Batfam.
The characterization of the Batfam members is so inconsistent that it’s honestly hard to keep track of sometimes. You read one version of Damian Wayne and he’s talking about blood purity. You read a different version, and he’s using “chickens” as a curse word. It is a problem. No one has consistent character writing.
(Edit: Damian didn’t use “chickens as a cuss word. Many people, myself included, misread it as such. But my point still stands that Damian’s characterization is hella inconsistent.)
I could say “Batman is an implied pedo,” and every single Batman fan would want to argue. I want to argue!! But it’s true! In Frank Miller’s All Star Batman & Robin, Bruce, he kidnaps Dick Grayson and abuses him severely. It’s heavily implied that Bruce is attracted to Dick, it’s straight up shown that he grooms him, and it’s implied that he abuses him in that way. I absolutely loathe Frank Miller’s Batman for many reasons, but this is at the top of the list.
(Edit: Frank Miller probably didn’t intend for Batman to come off as predatory, but the actual content still heavily implies it regardless.)
Batman isn’t the only one.
There are versions of every Batfam member that I dislike for one reason or another. I have to live with the knowledge that Devin Grayson’s Nightwing exists, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
DC canon is a nightmare amalgamation of inconsistency, unsatisfactory storylines, unaddressed and mishandled trauma, and terrible behaviors from our “heroes.”
Don’t get me wrong; I love DC. I wouldn’t have read thousands of their comics, sat through all of their movies, and I wouldn’t be writing this post if I didn’t. But they are very very far from perfect.
All this to say, I don’t agree with a lot of comic fans who shame others for preferring fanon character depictions over canon ones. If you prefer fanon over canon, good for you! So do I! A lot of the time, the fanon comes from combining the best aspects of a character from different canons.
So don’t shame fans who haven’t read the comics, or who prefer fanon over canon. Because when it comes to DC, what is canon anyways?
(Edit: Yes, I’m aware that poor-taste fanon interpretations exist. Just like canon, fanon isn’t always going to be good. Don’t go harass people over it.)
absolutely obsessed with Jason and Tim being the family psychologists that spend 90% of their time together just getting into long debates and discussions about the personalities and mental issues of everybody in the family. they will meet up at Jason’s apartment twice a week for takeout and a 2 hour conversation on how Damian might be so obsessed with the Robin mantle because the dynamics of the league make him think that family should be a business and if he cant work as a vigilante he’ll be abandoned. every stakeout they do together ends up with them getting distracted talking about Dick and his obsession with red heads. they’ve let multiple people go during these stakeouts bcs they’ve gotten side tracked when they then start discussing if Jason’s childhood issues and strained relationship with Dick somehow influenced HIM to befriending Dick’s old pals so often, and they get so fascinatingly into it that the guy they were waiting for just. slipped right by them.
nothing is off limits between these two when they start talking about mental health and family issues. they’ll compare Tim’s abandonment-independence from the Drakes to Jason’s caretaker habits from his dug addicted mother. there have been 3 hour phone call conversations about the loa and how it fucked with Jason’s perception of Bruce that then get turned into 4 hour face to face discussions about how Tim’s opinion of Bruce rapidly declined because of Jason’s death and how he handled it. they rehash how Bruce has effected every single bat child about 12 times and they still never get tired of it.
it’s not even about therapy or coming to terms with trauma. these two bitches just love dissecting family drama and psychology within the Waynes. every now and then during dinner somebody will make a fairly casual remark that has nothing to do with anything and Jason and Tim will make eye contact across the table because they KNOW they’ll be tearing that apart at a later date. what I’m saying is english-enthusiast Jason Todd and stalker-genius Timothy Drake are 100% the gossip scientists of the family, and the Waynes are their lab rats being observed for their own entertainment
